


Lifetime Back Massages

by greenbucket



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Back Pain, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: If he’s being honest, Carter doesn’t know the dude much; kid’s a third line winger, and not to be a dick but Carter is first, and he has more important shit to be thinking about and doing in his senior year than making buddies with a too-chatty frog.





	Lifetime Back Massages

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case, Carter Marsh is from [here.](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/98012749032)

“Hey man, I know this is now like the fucking worst and most awkward time to ask and, like, let me totally apologise again because I _so_ didn’t think that ball was gonna hit you, but I guess life just works out like that sometimes and––,”

“Dude,” Carter interrupts before it become a whole spiel, speaking into his towel like if he doesn’t look up he’ll get one more moment of peace.

If he’s being honest, Carter doesn’t know the dude much; kid’s a third line winger, and not to be a dick but Carter is first, and he has more important shit to be thinking about and doing in his senior year than making buddies with a too-chatty frog.

And that’s the thing he knows for sure, just like every sorry bastard on the Samwell Men’s Hockey team has for the last year –– Shitty will not shut up. Ever. He just won’t shut up. Give him a joint and, God, it’s like putting on a white noise machine: _constant_.

And, like, it’s all legit, is the thing. Carter didn’t come to Samwell because he wants to shove a Republican badge up his ass, and it’s not something he’s gonna advertise on the ice because being half Indian gets him enough shit but he’s down for getting his dick sucked by people of all genders. His sister fucking majored in WGS, for fuck’s sake.

It’s just Shitty explains it all for so long, and nine times outta ten it’s not fucking necessary; just tell a bro to knock it off and if he’s solid he will, no need for the history and linguistics lecture. Don’t even get Carter started on having a white dude explain the concept of racial microagressions to him.

Long story short, Carter is feeling some hardcore trepidation when he finally pulls his face out his towel. Dude’s lucky they just won the game, a dissatisfying OT scrape of a win after a fucking mess of a game though it may have been, because Carter’s face still hurts from where he’d got smacked with a ball from Shitty’s pre-game soccer and his back is agony and he has a paper on comparative employment relations due tomorrow.

Shitty is wet and fidgeting in just a towel, hair in full mullet mode and hopeful look on his face. Carter holds in the soul-deep sigh he can feel building in his chest.

“What’s up, bro?” he says, because being rude to team never goes well in the long-term, as satisfying as it may be in the moment.

Shitty sits in the empty stall next to Carter, and starts, “So I was hanging out with our man Jack the other day and I was thinking. You’re graduating this year and so your room in the Haus is gonna be free, right?”

Carter has a feeling he knows where this is going, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna make it easy. “Yup.”

“Right, right. And you’re next to Jack? I’ve got all my facts straight?”

“Yup.”

Zimmermann had moved in mid-semester after Macky had had go home and take some time out when his dad just up and died.

Macky’s Carter’s bro, and his dad was pretty awesome when Carter stayed at their place for a few weeks last summer, so it’s been pretty terrible all round. It’s worse because he knows Macky’s still a mess over it from reading between the lines of his FB messages, and it’s frustrating because it would be way easier to cheer him up if he was still just the room over and they could get schwasted together and cry it out or something, but they can’t and it sucks. They won’t even get to graduate together now.

So, Carter had basically been way ready to hate Zimmermann on principle. Except the guy’s been pretty quiet, a decent bathroom-mate; none of the coke and partying that Carter had been expecting from his rep and none of the strict bedtime rules he’d been expecting from the way Zimmermann’s actually been, which is the kind of guy that gets up at 4am to go to the rink.

Carter’s been wondering if the guy feels bad, actually. Must be pretty shit to get a room just because a dude’s dad died and _your_ dad is world famous so everyone just decided, yeah, we can’t leave that guy in dorms even though no one really talks to him. Not that it’s Carter’s problem, and not that Zimmermann doesn’t have the most talkative guy ever as his best bud to fill all the gaps.

Shitty is nodding, still all hopeful and unaware that Carter knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sweet, sweet. So what can I do for dibs?”

Carter just wants to have a hot shower to wash this game off him and ease some of his aching muscles, to be honest. The need to talk about dibs should be at least a few weeks away, at least when he’s a little further into his thesis.

“You can’t just ask for dibs, man,” he explains to Shitty anyway, because seniors have to be leaders. Frogs these days, they don’t know anything.

Shitty leans so far out the stall towards Carter he’s at risk of falling straight off the seat, all eagerness and youth, and says, “No, no, no, I’m not saying _give_ me dibs. I’m asking what can I do for you to get you to give them. I have skills, brah. Up to my ears in services I can provide.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Nothing that I could do that would even amuse you a little? Tickle your fancy? I could wear something socially unacceptable for a few days. I don’t fucking know what, a sexy nurse outfit?”

Carter gets the impression that Shitty might enjoy that a little too much. As much as the dude is a scrappy frog who constantly stinks of weed and has a motormouth and an awful pornstache, Carter can admit to himself that he might enjoy it a bit too much himself, too, and that isn’t something he needs to look any fucking closer at.

“Can you write my thesis?”

Shitty makes a considering head tilt. “I’m pretty sure that’s against a fuckload of legislation and I’d want some kind of protection against getting kicked out myself if anyone found out, but yeah, why the fuck not. What’s your major?”

“Business.”

“Ah, well, no can do then,” Shitty says, voice all cheerfully regretful but some actual anxiety all up in the shoulder area. “I can do you some PolSci, some gender shit, some legal stuff, no business. Not my area.”

Carter knows the dude’s dad got into some major, national-and-semi-international shit to do with hedge funds. Shitty acts like no one knows, but Cater and every other business major knows; they’d had to discuss it in a comp module seminar way back when, and he’s pretty sure that dude is still pulling that case out to examine in detail to this day.

Carter pretends he doesn’t know right now, because he’s nice like that. “Too much capitalism or whatever?”

“You know it, my man,” agrees Shitty, shoulders relaxing. “Unless your thesis is taking a hella critical perspective, I don’t wanna know.”

Carter doesn’t know what counts as ‘hella critical’ so he shrugs and says, “I don’t know what you could do for dibs, then. Sorry.”

Shitty’s shoulders are back up around his ears. “What about codifying the bylaws? Or saving us when we had that dude sent round and he said the Haus had to be demolished and I got my legalese on? They’ve gotta count for something.”

“I won’t even be in the Haus next year, so no. It’s gotta be something to help me specifically, you know?” Carter just really wants to have his shower now, for himself and so he doesn’t get chewed out by the coaches for making everyone late. “Sorry again, dude. If it makes you feel any better I was gonna put it up for the lottery, so you never know.”

He gets to his feet and his back does the pain equivalent of getting checked into the boards by two guys at once in protest, his ears ringing for a second and his breath coming in sharp with the way the pain shoots up through his neck.

Fuck, he’s going to have to go and see the med guys; he knows instinctively it’s nothing serious but it’s going to need some TLC, the way everything’s all locked up more than his usual now. Carter can already see a night of anti-inflammatory gel and hot water bottles ahead.

“Yo, dude, you good?” Shitty asks.

“Just my back. It’s all tensed up, the piece of shit, I’ll get it seen in a bit.”

“Oh, well, tough break, man.” Shitty strips off his towel and moves down to his own stall, then suddenly stops and turns back so fast it’s got his junk flying around, eyes lit up. “Wait, your back hurts? Like, the muscles and shit?”

The boys are looking at them now. Carter likes being on the first line and knows that comes with a certain amount of prestige that’s unavoidable, but he doesn’t like being the centre of attention. Ever. Shitty can’t help being it, and drawing those around him into it, too. Carter wants to get this finished as soon as possible.

“Yes, the muscles and shit,” says Carter.

“That’s fucking great news! I mean, sorry about your back and all but I have a legit certificate saying I can give some stellar massages to people’s backs.”

“A certificate?”

“It was my mom’s yoga instructor’s idea, just for fun, anyway it doesn’t matter. Dude, I will give you the best massage your back has ever had, like I swear on Bobby Orr’s ballsack that you won’t even know it’s your back anymore it’ll feel so fucking good. And then you can give me dibs!”

Carter did not think sorting his room for next year would be this much trouble, and he really doesn’t care that much, and his back really does ache, so he says, “Yeah, okay.”

“Like you will be on the next level of heaven, brah, fully just transcending all–– wait. Yeah?”

“Make that back massages until the end of the year.”

“Done,” Shitty says, looking pleased with himself, and then he opens his mouth and carries on, “It’s cool that you’re comfortable and easy enough in your masculinity that you don’t have to feel absurdly threatened by, like, the fucking idea of another man touching you in a non-contact sport context. I know hockey culture encourages a shit load of out-there toxic masculinity shit, but you’re breaking through that and you know ––”

“Make that a lifetime of back massages,” Carter interrupts before it can get any worse, proud of himself for his restraint, and holds out his hand to shake.

Shitty goes quiet, making half a face at the prospect before reeling it back in. “Understood,” he says, meek, and shakes Carter’s hand.

Carter is more relieved than he can put into words. “It’s a done deal, you’ve got the room next year. Now fuck off, I need to shower.”

Shitty gives him a thumbs up, and Carter books it to the showers before he can start jabbering on about something else. He’s going to need those back rubs if they mean having to hang around Shitty for anything longer than a few minutes.

\---

Carter falls asleep on the bus back, and it’s a weird, disorientating hour in the morning by the time they make it back to Samwell. He’s not sure he’s fully awake even as he makes his way back with the rest of the Haus, and so when Johnson wanders over his way it all feels a little like a dream.

It especially feels like one when Johnson says in his usual weird chill way, “You played a really important role in the narrative there, bro. Like, for the majority of people engaging with this story you’ll be entirely an unknown that exists only fleetingly as a name? But that was way important.”

Carter blinks at him, feeling bleary as fuck. As ever, Johnson has clearly had too many pucks to the head because Carter has no fucking clue what the dude is on about.

Johnson doesn’t seem to pick up on this and instead smiles as reassuringly as someone who seems to exist slightly left of reality can, which isn’t very reassuring at all. “Just remember it’s okay to only exist and be fully recognised in constructions outside of the canon, dude. It’s pretty wild to think about but it’s where most of us are.”

“… Right,” says Carter, which seems to satisfy Johnson, who wanders off again.

Carter fucking hates the underclassmen on this team.


End file.
